A Grown-Ass Man's Pokemon Journey
by birdup
Summary: A take on the Pokemon series if the protagonist was an alcoholic 22-year-old. Rated M for large amounts of profanity. Could be considered a crackfic due to its zany nature. Reviews would be great!


_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fffffffuck._

I knew Schnapp's at two in the morning was an awful idea, but I had to go ahead and do it anyway. Not to mention I went to bed _maybe_ three hours ago in a pool of my own vomit, and now my alarm clock was going off so loudly I wanted to eat myself alive.

Ah, well. Alarm clock, meet my shoe. Good night, asshole! Where I'm going, I'm not gonna need that shit anymore.

If my horoscope is at all accurate - which is a lot to ask of, you know, a _horoscope_ \- "The future is unrolling in front of you and it contains endless possibilities." Somewhere, some dopey astrologist is using their new paycheck for that original line for another pound of marijuana. But you know what? Good for them, because that sentence is the only memory I can grasp from last night's shitfaced fuckfest, so I'm gonna take it and run.

Professor Croak had been my ass for a while now to become a Pokemon trainer and make good use of myself or to follow in my father's footsteps grumble grumble. And that's fine and all, really, but I'll be frank: Pokemon freak me the hell out. I was never an animal person, but that's nothing compared to being scared poo-less at the prospect of adventuring north of my house through tall grass up to my tits just to reach a PokeMart. I wuss out every time I have to run an errand and I pay some townsperson to do it for me.

Oh, and Bug-Type Pokemon were the worst. I shudder just thinking about Weedles.

However, there were bigger fish to fry at the moment, like _ahhhhh SHIT, what do I do about all of this vomit on my bedsheet?_ I needed to act fast, because my mother was coming up the stairs.

"Ryan? 'You up?"

Dingleberries. I figured I'd just answer the door so she didn't have to look inside. As I ran over, my mom reached the doorway, which caught me completely off-guard. So much so that I heaved-ho all over her white Keds.

" **UGH!** Ryan! What the hell is wrong with you?"

And that's the last thing I remember before blacking out.

* * *

I came to in my bed, but there were no bedsheets. Alright, moms, I'll give you credit where credit is due, it was pretty dope of you to take care of my pukey blankets. But you know what would be even more dope right now? A cold Sierra Mist. Ooooh yeah. Alright, down the stairs I go.

Okay, so I missed most of the stairs and I have a lump on my forehead big enough for people to mistake be for a mugging victim. But I'm downstairs. Mission accomplished.

Before I get to the fridge, however, my mom blocks my way.

"Ryan, I've had it up to here with your, your, your BULLSHIT!"

Ow. Migraine. Ow. "Please don't shout, mom."

My mom laughed at that, strangely enough. "Oh? Then please allow me to bend over and pucker up so you can kiss my ASS?"

"Jesus Christ Superstar," I mumbled, "what do you want?"

Mom began gesturing wildly toward the front door. "I want you out, that's what I want! I've had enough of your drunken episodes, young man! You need to make something of yourself and quit bringing shame to our good name! Your father doesn't bust his nut just so you can smuggle booze up to your bedroom and paint the walls with your stomach lining!"

I did a double take. "I'm sorry, bust his what?"

"You're not listening to me! That isn't the point!" She stopped briefly to pop a Valium without the assistance of water. Hardcore. "You need to stop lying around here and go out into the real world! Make something of yourself!"

...Which reminded me of my horoscope. So I tried to change the subject. "Did you know that Mercury is in Taurus right now?"

"I don't give three queefs about Freddie Mercury, young man!" (TMI.)

I tried to correct her. "No, I meant my horoscope-"

"I'm your horoscope, motherfucker! And I say get out of here and see Professor Croak before my toes and your rectum become bunkmates! Understand?"

I froze. This is exactly what I didn't want. I knew the day would be coming, but I was hoping it wouldn't be when I was hungover. Really hungover.

I laughed nervously. "Haaa, no comprende. No habla Ingles."

She began to rub her temples clockwise, sitting back down in her dining room chair.

"Just. Go."

I decided not to argue with her, but I did have an important question:

"Can I have a Sierra Mis-"

She waved frantically at the fridge, hoping to speed along the process of my leaving.

"Take them. Take them all. Just get out. Out of my sight. Goodbye."

Hoo boy. No further questions, Your Honor. I left that fridge as empty as Lance Bass's closet.

* * *

Upon stepping into the sunlight, however, my mood quickly changed. The sun and I? Not on good terms right now. And I have fair skin and burn easily, so fuck that guy.

I figured that Croak would be at his research lab, so I regained my crumbling composure and made a beeline. That was before I caught a glimpse of the Pallet Town sign: "PALLET TOWN: Shades of your journey await!"

Shades of my most recent meals now decorate that sign.

Thankfully, I was right next to the Professor's research lab (the town is remarkably small, only ten inhabitants), so I traipsed on in...

* * *

...to find Croak's mindless intern-

"I work for Professor Croak."

"Yeah, no shit, friend. Beat it."

-and my nemesis. Vincent. Douchebag extraordinaire. Sitting at his grandfather's desk like he owned the place. Just looking at him made my stomach flip.

"Assface," cried he from his throne of smugness, "Croak isn't in right now! You just missed him! Should've been here an hour ago!"

I shot back, "I didn't ask, you giant crap stain!"

The asshole retorted, "Go find your dad!"

Touche. I hadn't heard from Pops in quite a while. But I wouldn't give Vincent the satisfaction of knowing who my next check-in phone call would be to.

"Go find your balls," I muttered as I threw my body back into the sun.

"I know where they are, they're deep in your mom!" is the last remark I heard before kissing the gravel. I really underestimated the great power of gravity. When I looked up from my shameful position, there stood Captain Dumbass: the fat lard across the way.

"Technology is incredible! You can now store and recall items and Pokemon as data via PC!"

My stomach became a world-class gymnast, but I swallowed my upchuck and rose to my feet, sick of Pallet Town's bullshit. I decided to march north into the tall grass and allow a Pidgey to gouge my eyes out.

"FUCK YOU!" I shouted unnecessarily at Lard, flipping him the bird ("Technology is incredible!..."). Off I stumbled to Route 1!

* * *

Before I could make it further than the treeline, I head Croak's voice behind me, harshing my masochistic mellow.

"Ryan! Get back from the tall grass!"

It's a good thing I don't normally listen to authority... But my hungover ass couldn't wrench free from his surprisingly firm grasp on my shoulders.

"Agh!" I cried. "What?"

Professor Croak whipped me around to face him. I couldn't help but think he was a total dilf. And also, where could he have possibly been in a town that has the surface area of an eighth of _maybe_ an acre?

"If I didn't see you, young man, you would've been Pidgey shit!"

"That's the idea..." I mumbled hopelessly, letting the dream of dying a yard from my house just fart away.

"I've been looking for you, Ryan! Come with me!"

He took my wrist and whisked me back to his lab, not paying heed to the fact that, well, he was dragging me. I spit out dirt and pebbles with one thought on my mind: I need an adult.

* * *

Croak and I reached his Grand Geek Dome and went inside, giving me a second chance to rethink all of my life choices. He led me to a table that had three Pokeballs sitting on it, and standing by that table was Count Dickula, Vincent Croak.

He grinned from ear to ear, probably happy he had an audience at which he could spray his vitriol. "Back so soon?"

I wish I could say that I was the only person in Kanto who wanted to force-feed Vincent his own nail clippings, because, from the looks of it, Vincent's presence was giving Grandpa Croak renal failure all over again.

Croak was sporting a grin as he got into his routine. "Boys, feast your eyes upon these! These a-"

"What are they?" asked an interrupting pimpledick.

"Vincent," Croak feebly replied, wanting to sob over the loss of his momentum, "I was getting there! I had this whole thing prepared!"

Vincent scoffed. "Just get on with it."

I imagined a scenario in which I dropped trou' and began flinging fecal matter at my sworn foe.

Croak found his cool and persevered. "These are the last three Pokemon I own. As you both know, I've only ever owned eight, and the rest were Caterpies. Because, you know, they're so precious. Anyway, I would like each of you to pick one of these three Pokemon to accompany you."

The word 'accompany' came way out of left field and sent more urine to my bladder. "Accompany us? Accompany us where?"

Croak laughed heartily, as old people tend to do. "Accompany you on your adventure! Accompany you as Pokemon trainers!"

I could feel myself shrinking. "Oh, ha, no no no no-"

"Oh, yes yes yes yes," responded the smartass professor. "You're going to assist me in my studies! Now choose your Pokemon!"

Before I could argue any further, Vincent piped up.

"What about me, Gramps?" He whined. I'll fuck his shit, I swear.

Croak sighed with the great power he possessed in his withered lungs. "I said you could have one a few paragraphs ago, you daft punk. Now choose, you two!"

I resigned, walking closer to the table. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me.

"Professor," I began, "how the hell are we supposed to know what Pokemon we're choosing?"

Croak frowned, then looked at his balls. Ha. Ha ha.

"Marvin," he called, "did you forget the placards?"

The intern, supposedly named Marvin, popped up. "I work for Professor Croak!"

Croak sighed and turned back to me. "Just choose one because I told you so."

I looked at the three balls and I eventually decided on the monkey in the middle. Or whatever goddamn animal it was supposed to be. I was just trying to turn a phrase. Leave me alone.

"Ah!" Professor Croak exclaimed. "A great choice!"

I stared at him for a moment. "You have no idea what this is."

"I have no idea what that is," he replied, not missing a beat.

Vincent lunged for the Pokemon on the right, laughing maniacally. "Mine is going to be better than yours! Mine is going to b-"

"Vincent, for the love of Christ," the professor snapped, "shut up the fuck your mouth."

Vincent simply sneered back at me. "Whatever! Ryan, you're dead meat. And I beat dead meat."

Milk came out of my nose as I lost my shit. **"You WHAT?"**

"Enough!" Croak brought us both to silence. He then smiled, attempting a happier persona. "Just go on and do my bidding!"

I didn't need to be told twice. As I did a 180° and headed for Fuck Off Land, however, Vincent shouted after me.

"Hey! Hold on a minute, dickbreath!"

("That was one time!" I said defensively.)

Vincent sauntered over, brandishing his new Pokeball. "Let's test these babies out. I'll duel you."

Marvin, the intern, popped up between us. "Wrong game, fuckboy..." And then *poof*! He was gone.

Ignoring the previous interjection, I shot back at him, "What, now?"

"Yeah!" He lobbed the Pokeball toward me. "I choose you!"

The ball landed right in my flabby abdomen. My flab-domen, if you will.

I doubled over. "Oh, Ebenezer fucking Scrooge! What the-"

That's when I saw a dinosaur quadruped with a large bud on its back materialized out of the ball. It gave a roar, preparing for whatever I threw back at it. I decided to chuck my Pokeball at it, bouncing it off of the poor creature's dome.

Professor Croak winced. "I'm watching two imbeciles. A pair of fucking morons."

Vincent was raving that I caused damage to his Pokemon. "Hey!"

Then, out of the Pokeball I threw, appeared a blue turtle. That's what I chose, a TMNT knock-off. Yertle's radioactive cousin.

I turned to Professor Croak. "What the shit do we do now?"

"Beats the hell out of me," said he, "I've never done battle."

Vincent pointed in my direction, embracing the pseudo-anime aesthetic. "Bulbasaur! Use Growl!"

Green Dinosaur growled. I waited for the damage to be done to Blue Turtle.

I wondered aloud, "What exactly did that do?"

Vincent responded, "I lowered your attack, fathead! Now you're gonna do less damage!"

I looked to Professor Croak. "Well, what fancy-ass moves do I have?"

"Don't ask me!" He put his hands up defensively. "I only probed them occasionally."

A five-second silence pervaded the room.

Once it was over, I turned back to Blue Turtle.

"Sic 'em, Blue Turtle!" I ordered.

Blue Turtle didn't obey. I tried again.

"Hey! Little guy! Sic 'em!"

Vincent scoffed. "No, you turd, you only get to do one move on your turn!"

I whined back, "Why the fuck is that?"

"God, you're a n00b!" Vincent proceeded to heavily patronize me like the bitch I was (am). "In a battle, you can only do one thing when it's your turn. If you order your Pokemon to do a move, whether or not they obey, that is your move. Even if you switch out or use a Potion or whatever, it counts as your move. Now it's mine."

"But I didn't give it a move! I just said, 'Sic 'em!'"

Vincent shook his head, surprised at my lack of knowledge for this shit. "Doesn't matter. My turn, fartbrain. Bulbasaur!" He did the damn point again. "Use Tackle!"

The spirit of Ray Lewis possessed Green Dinosaur as he took Blue Turtle down with a single bound and then leapt back across the room to Vincent.

"Your move." Vincent laughed scornfully.

Panicked, I picked up Blue Turtle and lobbed it at Green Dinosaur. "Tackle!"

As the two Pokemon made impact, Vincent shat a brick and hopped around. "Hey! Are you fucking kidding me?"

I threw up my hands. "It wouldn't obey me the first time!"

Meanwhile, in the back of the room, Professor Croak pulled out painkillers from his lab coat and began popping a few. The intern lay unconscious, no one exactly knew why or how, but there he was, I guess.

Oh, yeah, the battle. I'm pretty sure Green Dinosaur died. He wasn't moving.

Vincent shouted, "My Bulbasaur fainted!"

"Oh." So he wasn't dead. That's good.

He picked up his Pokeball and allowed Bulbasaur to materialize back inside. He looked back to me, shaking his fist like a scorned supervillain.

"I'll be back! I'll be stronger than ever! You'll be eating my dust! Mark my words!"

Vincent stormed for the door, shooting back "Later, butthole," at me before disappearing.

I looked to Professor Croak. "So? How did I do?"

Croak raised his brow and pursed his lips. "Well, you won, right?"

I nodded. "I, yeah, I did."

"Then why are you asking me?" Croak smiled. "Now go on. Get. I'll see you later."

Okay, so technically I was told twice, but whatever, fuck you. I peaced out...

...but not before tripping over the unconscious intern.

"Agh! Fuck!"

...I'm the man.


End file.
